


Dirty 30s

by tanoshii_koushi



Category: Original Work
Genre: No Dialogue, Original Fiction, Short, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 04:49:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19760929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanoshii_koushi/pseuds/tanoshii_koushi
Summary: A short scene inspired by my take on the Dirty 30s!





	Dirty 30s

That blasted heat just never lays rest. A thousand suns of brutal intensity glare upon my back, trying to melt me into the colourless  
waste that is the rest of this dastardly plain. No reprieve for days... or has it been weeks? It can't have been that long... but all  
of the lush beautiful scenery has only been replaced with a dull, endless sandy cover. Thousands of years of life and prosperity  
disappeared in only... Just disappeared. I can't remember when the land was joyous and life was prosperous; that land exists only in  
my dreams now. Instead I have this dead wasteland sprawled across the landscape. The scathing hot dust bites into my feet, a dull  
reminder that reality lays waiting for me. I try to raise my vision, but the flaming rays of the sun scorch my vision so violently  
that nothing can see its true beauty. Head thrown down, my mind and body wander as the expanse of sandy grey continues. I am unaware  
if I'm moving or not, the nondescript surface providing no clues to my dried out navigation sense. My dry eyes beg for a reprieve,  
something of colour and beauty to flit across my cornea for a flash of a second, anything to provide hope in this empty, crippling  
land. A land so foreign, I can hardly believe that I had once lived here.

But no, I haven't once lived here. I once lived in a place of beauty and wonder, but now all that is left behind is the remains of a  
civilization that seems so long forgotten...

My ears perk up and my mind jolts to action as I feel a gentle rushing against my skin. I don't know whether it's me who is moving or  
a rare breeze finally appearing to ease my weary mind; but I will not complain, as the change is far more welcome than anything I've  
experienced before. That cooling, gentle body caressing me, tingling the hairs on my arms and legs like tiny glimpses of the past  
flickering through my mind. The wondrous, incredible feeling is a cold drink down the parched throat of my dried soul. I sink into the  
comfort, willing that it will only continue to pass around me... no... through me. That's what I wish, I want it to purify my lost,  
forgotten soul. To fulfill the desire that anything will remember me. Tear me out of this purgatory of forgotten souls, an inferno of  
dust and the footsteps of the long abandoned.

I wish only to be remembered again, brought to a place where I could be remembered in a peaceful, tender fashion. Anything could be  
better than fading into the rifts of times so long forgotten that their footprints are forever fossilized on the bottom of the ocean  
that is time.

And as I dream; beg; plead; I stagger onwards into the breeze, rejoicing in every refreshing second it offers. Yet the glimmers of the  
past begin to sting. To cut rather than tingle. To no longer refresh; no longer rekindle; no longer rejoice; but to damage; to  
discard... to destroy. I now feel the dust rising up, scarring my body and swirling around me in a hurricane of my failings. With a  
final effort, I toss my head back, thrusting my eyes open, only to watch the rays of my beautiful dreams be obscured by a single,  
throbbing colour. The colour of me.


End file.
